


The Sentinel

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Bound Weapons, Ex-Thalmor Dragonborn, Expanded Illusion Magic, No Guild Questlines, No Romance, Physical Disability, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Main Quest, Stealth Archer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Dragonborn was always the greatest of all Nord heroes. Honorable. Kind-hearted. Heroic. But this Dragonborn, she is none of those things. Instead of a brave hero, Skyrim has received a High Elven assassin with a complicated future. Talos preserve us.





	The Sentinel

Four figures stood in the rain, in a what amounted to a circle. Before them knelt a woman, her face pointed towards the ground. A sixth figure stood behind her, pressing the cold elven steel of his blade to the skin of her back. She was naked before them save for the drops of water the sky poured onto her, stripped of armor that she no longer deserved.

"What, happened," began the figure standing opposite the woman, his question sounding more like a command. His hand raised slightly, and the woman felt the sword lift from her back.

"There were..." Her voice hitched, already knowing her fate, "...complications. The target was supposed to be alone. I took the best shot I could, but I was spotted before I could fire. He survived, despite his injuries. I..."

"Such failure will not be tolerated." The lead figure interrupted, his statement punctuated by the crash of lightning behind him. Light reflected off the walls of the keep, off of the eyes of the Altmer that inhabited it, and off the blade that slashed against the woman's back. She cried out, the blade not digging deep enough to kill, but it was certainly enough to inflict serious damage to her flesh. She fell onto her stomach, a moment later summoning the strength to push herself up, only to find a boot planted on her back where the blade had cut her.

"There is no room for failure amongst the Aldemeri Dominion.. You will die, just as those Nord dogs will die." The head figure drew an elven longsword, its tip scraping on the ground. "Bring her to the interrogation chamber. Perhaps something should come from her failures. And if not, at least she will know true failure." Two of the armored gards grabbed the woman's arms and dragged her away. Their leader shook his head, rain water dripping from his brow. "What a waste."

The woman groaned, feeling the now almost comfortable feeling of chains on her wrists. A moment later, she shook her head, internally cursing herself for so easily being captured Were it not for the magical rne at her feet that was sapping her of her energy, she would be able to scape in less than a heartbeat's time.

Heer eyes opened and were immediately drawn to the source of the noise that had woken her- the pitiful excuse for an Altmer that was the fortress' torturer. "I've got something special for you today, he said. She had an idea of what it may be, as she could already see the newborn flames in his hand. But she didn't expect him to draw a dagger and run it across his palm, nearly close enough to slice his own flesh. He did this several times, like a bladesmith working a fresh sword, until the dagger glowed a white-yellow comparable to Auriel himself.

When the butcher of men and mer was satidfied with his dagger, He approached her, a sadistic grin on his face. The woman shivered with an unnatural fear. This was not a situation she was accumstomed to. She was used to being the wpredator, not the prey. The torturer brought the superheated touch of the blade to her face, and she shrieked, her head flinching away from it. Her assailant found no issue with her struggles, and grabbed her roughly by the chin. The dagger brushed the right side of her face, scorching the skin there She screamed, her cries terribly loud and blood-chilling. However, her cries likely only made her injuries worse, as the blade carved deep through the skin and muscle, cutting straight to the bone, the flesh burning as it did so.

Her screams echoed throughout the keep as the blade traveled upwards. Just as it was about to reach her eye, the blade was pulled away from her face, though her screams carried on for a minute late, before she realized it was over. She felt the vague sensation of the salt in her tears burning against the raw flesh beneath her eye. She breathed deeply, her body shaking.

Suddenly, and forcibly, the torturer's hand shot forwards, the nail of his thumb directly stabbing into her right eye. Her cries returned tenfold as white fluid burst from her eye socket. The torturer ripped his thumb from her now destroyed eye, a look of annoyane on hhis face. "Quit yor screaming, you wench!" He roared as kicked her in the stomach, which only caused her to vomit up what little food she had been fed.

The woman coughed, the acid in her bile burning her throat as her blood dripped onto the floor. She weakly looked up at the torturer with her one remaining eye. At that moment, she spoke, her owrds unwavering, and each word dripped with icy venom.

"You will burn. You think yourself superior to me, don't you? Because I lie in chains, and you remain free? No.You are a slave just as I was a slave. The difference between you and I is that I can see the chains binding me."

The tortrer laughed. "We will see, magggot."

The sound of battle filled her ears, waking her from yet another short slumber. Her eye flicked back and forth, looking for the cause, and widened when she saw the torturer fall back into the interrogation room, his hands clutching his throat, an arrow stuck between his fingers. The horrific excuse for an elf fell to the ground, blood flowing from between his fingers as he choked on his last breath.

An archer walked into the room, his Redguard skin glistening from sweat and blood, who swept the room with is gaze and quickly spotted the woman. His face was grim underneath his scaled helmet, his armor swished as he approached the woman's cage. "By Talos," he gasped, "Not even an elf deserves this."

He reached through the sack that rested on the table next to the woman's cage, drawing a small brass key. He went to the door and unlocked it, and soon did the same to the woman's bindings. The woman fell to the ground, but he caught her with a pair of well muscled arms. "Woah, there," he said as he laid her on the prison floor, "You're going to be alright. Here." He reached into the pouch on his hip and withdrew a small vial of a green liquid. "Drink this."

The woman weakly took the vial and drank its contents as greedily as a newborn baby drinks from his mother's breast. Almost instantly, she felt energy surge through her. The vial slipped from her fingers as she drew in a sharp breath. "Thank... You..."

"I would have done it for my worst enemy," the Redguard declared solemnly. "Can you stand? You shouldn't stay here."

She nodded. "You're right." She grabbed onto the man's shoulder firmly as he stood slowly. She released him, and was a little impressed with herself that she could still stand.

"Hasvyn!" A Nordic voice called from the entrance, "Are you in there?"

Hasvyn turned towards the entrance as he scooped his bow off the floor and shouted a confirmation, before looking back to the Altmer. "Go." he ordered, before reaching to his side and unstrapping the dagger from his belt before tossing it to her. "Don't look back. Divines preserve you." he wished, before he fled from the interrogation chamber.

The woman glanced down at the dagger as she slid it from its sheath and marvelled at the blade's ebony metal. She slid the dagger back in its sheathe and hurried outside, taking a path that she cursed herself for knowing.

The woman emerged from the fortress' stone walls to find the courtyard embroiled in battle. Men and mer clashed with blades and bows, as the the air was filled with the sounds of metal on metal. The woman was smart enough to simply run from the battle, but as she did, a pair of eyes followed her. A single Altmer stood in the middle of the fray, a malachite longsword held in one hand, fire burning in the other. He knew that it was not his place to follow her. She would return to him soon enough.

When the woman woke from sleep nearly a month later, she was far from the elven fortress known as Northwatch Keep. She opened her remaining eye slowly, looking up at her surrounding. She saw that she was in a carriage, the wheels bumping along a cobblestone path. She looked to her right, and glared at the other three men in the carriage, particularly one man in particular, one whose jaw was bound with a rag.

"Looks like you're finally awake," came a deep voice to her left. She turned from the man with the bound jaw to the speaker, a Nord man wearing the all too familiar cuirass of the Stormcloaks. "I don't know what you were doing trying to cross the border when you did, but your Imperial puppets took us all without care. At least they didn't slay us in our beds."

The woman turned away from him and grimaced, contorting the burn scars on her face. She said nothing to the Nord, so he continued, "Did one of my brothers take your eye, elf, or was it some other beast?" The woman looed back at him, but remained silent. "Well then? A wolf? A saber cat?"

"It was neither," She finally replied, her voice cold as the land's winds, "It was one of the many elves you might call prey."

The man's expression was one of sadness. "I'm afraid we are all prey today. Lambs led to the slaughter. I feel for you, elf. You have no business here." He nodded to his left, to indicate the man next to him. "Neither does he, the horse thief."

The horse thief turned at his mention. "Damn you Stormcloaks. I would have been on that horse and halfway to Hammerfell if it wasn't for you." He turned to the woman. "You and me, we don't belong here. We need to tell them! We need to get out of here!"

The blond Nord shook his head. "There is no escape from death. We're all brothers and sisters in binds now. Perhaps you need a little mead in you, to face your death with even some false courage. But I doubt that these Imperial dogs will even allow us that."

The woman chuckled darkly as she turned to see the cart approaching a setttlement. "Fitting for a Nord's last thoughts to be of mead and battle."

The blond Nord regarded her with distaste. "No, a Nord's last thoughts should be of home, and of the Divines."

The carriage reached the stone walls of a small town, with archers patrolling the upper part. As they passed through the gates, the woman nearly leaped from her seat at the sight she took in. Several Thalmor soldiers, speaking with an armored and graying man on a horse. The man's gaze passed her's on its way to the man on her right, and she felt no hatred from him, only sorrow and steadfast determination. She heard the man with the bound jaw shift in his seat, obviously upset.

The carriages came to a stop, and a small group of Imperial soldiers ordered the prisoners out of their transport. The woman's feet nearly failed her when she dropped on the ground, her skin there being worn nearly raw from her barefoot travels. She hissed in pain, drawing a look from the blond Nord.

Before them were, two Imperial soldiers stood, one in heavy steel armor, the captain; the other in a lighter leather armor, and holding the register for the Stormcloak prisoners. One by one, the soldiers were called forwards, and lined up at the block. When the horse thief's name was called, however, he finallly found what little courage he had and ran, only to be cut down by the archers stationed on the walls.

When the horse thief fell dead to the ground, the Imperial soldier who held the list turned to look at the woman before him. He turned to the captain beside him. "Ma'am? There are no Altmer listed here..."

"Forget the list," The captain interrupted, disgust in her voice, "She goes to the block."

The soldier nodded and turned back to the prisoner. "I'm sorry. I'll see to it that your remains are returned to Summerset Isle."

"Better them burned," The woman replied, before making her way to the block. As she lined up with the other prisoners, she saw the graying man speak down to the man with the bound jaw. She laughed internally, knowing that if the man's jaw had not been bound, the old man would surely be dead, his skull ground against the cold stone of the ground. As she considered this, a roar echoed faintly against the walls of the village, only for it to be ignored by the soldiers. She almost ignored it herself, but she wasn't a fool like them.

A woman in a priestess's robes stepped before the block, lifting her arms in prayer. As many of the soldiers prepared themselves for Sovngarde, one man, a Nord with hair the color of fallen leaves, stepped up to block and shouted for him to be taken first. The woman in robes backed away, and the man's neck was slammed into the block. A swing of the axe later, his head rolled from his body as a second roar sounded throughout the valley.

The woman was called to the block next. Strangely, she felt at ease where many would feel fear. After all, she had been through, all the pain, all the torture, death would be a respite. A mercy. As she laid her neck on the block, she whispered to the headsman, "Thank you."

What happened next seemed to make time seem less of an unstoppable river and more like water slowly dripping off of a leaf. A roar came once more, far louder than before and now, a large black shape came from behind the mountain to the northeast. Its scales were of pure midnight, its eyes to burning orbs. It soared through the valley, before landing directly on the tower behind the headsman as he raised his axe. The force of the beast's landing echoed through the stone, shearing blocks from the tower, one massive chunk of which struck the executioner's head and broke it open like a fist smashing a grape.

The woman saw the headsman fall to the ground, his feet made unsteady by his sudden lack of a head. She watched as the beast barked an echoing roar, and suddenly burning stone rained down upon them from the sky. It looked down to survey the damage it had wrought, and its eyes met those of the Altmer. For a moment, its eyes filled with fear, as it realized what she truly was. But its eyes filled with rage once more, as it realized that she did not yet know her true power, which would make her all the easier to burn. It flapped its wings once, then again, throwing itself into the air and throwing the woman off the block.

The woman groaned, pushing her bound hands against the stone and standing weakly. Her head was ringing, her eyesight unsure. She felt heat and fire all around her. And yet, the feeling of despair that had flowed through her was gone.

What replaced it was a feeling she previously would have scoffed at: Hope. The woman once thought that hope was simply a pathetic idea fit only for those who were so weak that they could not shape their own destiny. And yet... It was hope that resonated through her.

She heard a voice call out for her. She looked to see the blond Nord from the carriage, the ride seemingly years before. She sprinted over to him, and into the tower behind him.

The woman watched the Nord close the door, and turned to see Ulfric Stormcloak as he freed himself of his binds with a dagger. The Bear of the North looked at the Altmer and in his eyes she saw a man who was afraid for the lives of others, not the ruthless barbarian that she was told he was when she was ordered to kill him. But the Altmer wasn't particlarly interested in her former enemy. What she was interested in was getting out of her predictament alive. She turned away from him and began to walk up the stone steps spiraling up the tower they were in. As she did, small flames burned in her hands, and the binds that held them together fell charred on the floor.

When she reached the second floor of the tower, she saw a dark haired Nord pulling rocks out of their path. The man turned when he heard her coming up the stairs. "Hey, yellowbelly," he greeted, "Help me move these damned stones." But before she could make a single move to aid him, the wall nearest to the stairs broke open, as the dragon's head punched through the reinforced stone and fire exploded into existense. Had the woman not thrown herself back during the initial attack, she would have been charred like the man before her.

The great beast pulled back its head back and took to the sky once more. The woman crawled to her feet and tentatively made her way to the opening in the wall, and peered out to see a relatively undamaged home standing next to the tower she was in. Taking a sharp breath that tasted of smoke and the all-too-famialr scent of burning flesh, the Altmer ran towards the opening and leapt towards a large hole that had been burnt into the straw roof. She managed to clear the gap, but upper body collided with the edge and she fell backwards into the hole. The floor below, weakened by fire and rot, was not strong enough to take the impact of her body, and splintered under her weight, causing her to fall to the stone floor below. The woman managed to turn in mid-air and land on her feet and roll, narrowly avoid a fatal blow against the stone floqr, but not without any consequences.

The woman groaned in pain, which felt sharpest in her stomach, and in her feet. Sitting up, she saw that a dagger sized of wood had impaled itself in her right side. Crying out, she grabbed it with one hand, and pulled on the wooden shard with all her might until it suddenly came out, dripping wet with her blood. Panting, she placed a hand over her wound and cast a healing spell. Slowly she felt the wound closing, and minute later she pulled her hand back to see her both ragged clothes and her hand stained with blood, but beneath the blood there was little more than a scar the size and shape of a septim.

She rose to her feet, and slowly hobbled out of the house. As she did, she cast another spell. A purple flame appeared in her hand, and it twisted and spread, until it took the shape of a bow. A quiver formed on her back, and she reached into it and pulled out a solitary arrow. Her eye tracked the beast as it snatched an archer of the wall. She let her arrow fly, but it flew wild, despite the beast's size. Unfazed, the elf drew again, only to miss again. Her arms fell limp for a moment, confusion and shock coursing through her. She drew a third time, and this time the arrow flew true and struck the dragon in its armored hide. But a single arrow would not be enough to bring the great beast down, the woman realized as the spell faded from her hands.

"Prisoner!" A voice shouted somewhere to her right. The woman turned to see the redheaded Nord who had handled the list of prisoners crouched behind the remains of a charred house, a sword and shield in hand. The woman made her way to him as quickly as she could, which admittedly wasn't much thanks to her still bleeding feet. She threw her back against the wall next to the man, who peeked his head around the wall, but pulled it back quickily as a massive blast of fire shot past courtesy of the dragon.

"Torolf..." The man whispered. He turned to the Altmer woman. "If you've got any will to live, which I'm assuming you do, then follow me. we need to make our way to the keep. We'll be safe from that dragonfire there. Hopefully the others will have enough tosense to follow." He peered around the wall again and saw that the dragon was no longer blocking their path. "Come on! Let's go!"

The two survivors charged through the street, past Torolf's body, which had been cooked inside his now white-hot armor. Neither one looked at his remains, the man because he could not bear the sight, and the woman because she could not care.

The soldier and the prisoner mae their way through the alleys and streets of the town, dodging dragonfire and massive claws as they went. As they approached the keep, the woman spotted the sam blond Nord from the cart running towards them, a cheap iron hand axe in each hand. "Hadvar!" the soldier cried out upon seeing his kinsman, "My first true friend. Look at you. Swallowed whole by your damn Empire. Has it been worth it, Hadvar? All the blood you've spilled? All the sons you've taken from their mothers?!"

"I cold ask you the same thing," Hadvar replied, "But I'm not petty enogh to do so. Come with us, Ralof. Put your arms down today, for old time's sake."

"And let you stab me in the back again?" Ralof turned his head and spat on the ground. "I've killed enough of you Imperial dogs to know that you'd betray me as soon as I'd let you. You will never see Sovngarde, brother." With that, Ralof turned away from his childhood friend, and fled back into the flaming town, intent on assisting his Stormcloak brothers.

Hadvar watched his old friend go, before turning back to his only ally at the moment. "We'd best head inside," he said, opening the lrge wooden door. The Altmer ducked inside. Hadvar looked around the deveastation, before he followed her and closed the door behind him.

The Altmer scanned the room they were in. It seemed to be a barracks for the soldiers stationed in the town. Beds and weapon racks lined the walls. Hadvar walked past her, intent on one of the beds, and the chest in front of it.

"I don't know what you did to get caught up in that ambush," Hadvar began, "but I know that you definitely weren't with the Stormcloaks. And that by itself is all I need to trust you right now." Out of the chest came a leather tunic similar to the one that Hadvar wore himself. "I thank Talos himself that Ake chose this week to spend his leave with his family. He's got a boy no more than 2 seasons old. Here." He handed the armor over to the Altmer, who looked it over for a second. "He was about your build."

The High Elf threw the armor on. Hadvar was right, Ake was about her size. Her only complaint was that his boots were too big for her by the thickness of a baby's finger. But such matters were trivial.

"You might need a weapon, too." Hadvar said. "There might be a Stormcloak or two holed up in here, and they might not be merciful, considering how we weren't exactly merciful to them." Hadvar shook his head. "Damn this war. Damn these Imperials and these Stormcloaks. If I get out of this alive... I'm going to scrouch up some gold, and I'm going to Hammerfell. It's a good place now, ever since the Redguards drove the Thalmor out."

The Altmer woman looked at Hadvar the way she had looked at a hundred others, maye a thousand. They all had a similar story. The war. Debts. Someone out for their hide. She had been taught to ignore them, and tell them exactly what they wanted to hear.

But this time was different, somehow, someway. Something stirred her long dormant heart, and a sliver of compassion bled from her. "Don't worry," She said earnestly, of instead of in the cold drone she had been taught, "I'll get you out of here, unless I die trying. I doubt it'lll come to that, though."

Hadvar grabbed a sword hanging from a rack. "You wouldn't be in Skyrim if you didn't know how to swing a sword or an axe. I think it's basic instinct for all of the ten races by this point."

"Indeed," she replied, "but I've picked up a thing or two in my day." With those words, a purple flame reappeared in her left hand, and it grew and spread until it became the ethreal of a curved sword pulled straight from the planes of Oblivion. "I might be a bit rusty with it, but I should be able to handle a few poorly trained militimen. If it even comes to that." Hadvar gave her a look of awe and suspicion, but no words left his mouth.

When he finally found his words, he said, "Oh, yes, I remember something now." He turned to one corner of the room, where there were a few weapons lined up against the wall. "When they found you and the Nords, a friend of mine mentioned taking this off one of the prisoners. He didn't say who, but I think I know now." He turned back to her, a sheathed ebony dagger held in his hand. "Here. Take it." The woman attached the sheath to her armor's belt, before wording her thanks.

Hadvar led his companion deeper into the keep, until they came to a wooden gate set in front of a octagonal room lit by torches. Hadvar motioned for the woman to be quiet, but she had already heard the voices coming from within the room, and besides, she was rather quiet even without trying. Hadvar pulled a chain, and the gate slid dowwnwards.

The two of them entered the room two see to Stormcloak soldiers. One of them, a Redguard man, had a bloody bandage tied around his head, and the other, a Nord woman, was tending to his wounds. Hadvar was too preoccupied with them that he didn't notice the swirling blue-green light that flickered in hsi companion's right hand. The woman turned to see the High Elf, and let out a breath of relief. "Talos be praised, Bjorn! It's good to see you made it here alive."

"And it's certainly good to see you," the Altmer replied, but her voice was not her own. As Hadvar looked back at her, he saw that his ally had changed from a scarred woman from Summerset Isle, to a tall, handsome Nord covered in ash. "I nearly died three times outside. Once, by dragonfire, once by stones falling from the sky, and third time by an Imperial bastard with a bloody longsword. Talos must want me alive. I thank him for that. How are you?"

"I can't say that we're unhurt, but I also can't say that we're on the brink of death, either. I worried about our friends deeper in the keep, though. I believe there might be some Imperial scum below, but I know better than to leave a wounded man by his lonesome."

"I can fight," the Redguard man sais in an exasperated voice, and attempted to stand using his warhammer as a crutch, but his stature was shaky, and he fell to his knees.

"Aye, you can fight," the Altmer said sarcastically through the illusion, "I'll take a look downstairs."

"Thank you," the Nord woman said, before The High Elf departed, an awestruck Hadvar in tow.

"How did you do that?" the Nord asked, "Illusions that powerful... I've seen a magician entertain a crowd in Riverood, but that... that must taken a hundred years of practice..."

"It did." she replied, without even looking back at him, before continuing deeper into the keep. They pressed through a storeroom with little incident, but by the looks of things Stormcloaks had ransacked it. Barrels had been broken open, and what few things that hadn't been taken were lying about on the floor.

They continued through another door, and as they went down another flight of stairs they heard the sounds of a fight below them. "The torture room!" Hadvar yelled before charging down to find two Stormcloaks fighting with just as many Imperials. The two Imperials were hopelessly outmatched, as they only had a mace, a dagger, and meager magic to match a greatsword and a warhammer. One of them Imperials was took a downward diagonal slash to his shoulder, and the blade cut until it found his spine, where it refused to budge. Hadvar took the swordsman by the shoulder and drove his own sword into his lower back and out through his belly.

A moment later, an arrow flew by Hadvar's head and took the other living Imperial in the chest, knocking into the path of the incoming warhammer, which easily crushed his unprotected skull into bloody chunks. A second arrow followed, this one finding the head of the Nord holding the warhammer before he had a chance to admire his work. He dropped to the floor, and joined the three dead men on the ground.

Hadvar looked from the man he had just killed to the Altmer holding the glowing purple bow. "They're dead. I can't say that I would she'd a tear for them, though. These were the torturers." Upon hearing that, the prisoner drew her bow twice and put another arrow in both of the dead Imperials.

"I'm not particularly appreciative of their line of work." she explained dryly.

"Neither am I, but..." Hadvar cut himself off, not wanting to anger her, and instead began to search what was left of the Imperial bodies. "Hey, I found a couple of lockpicks in here. You wouldn't happen to know how to pick a lock, would you? There might be something of value in these cases."

"No," the Altmer replied sarcastically as the middle cell swung open next to her. "Child's play." She ducked into the cell, and she felt a slight chill as she remembered her own time in chains. The woman knelt down next to the corpse in the cell, a man rendered gaunt by either starvation or disease. Judging by his straw-like hair, he had once been a Nord, perhaps a proud one, considering his imprisonment. He wore the pale yellow and blue robes of a mage's apprentice, the hood of which the woman removed and pulled over her head. Hadvar gave her a look of slight disgust, but she could tell that he was more comfortable looking at the hood of a dead man rather than the burns that marred her face. "Is there a way out of this damned keep?"

"Well, I don't know if it's an actual way out, but... A week ago, one of walls a little deeper into the keep was broken open. We were digging out an old, closed off part of the keep, in order to make an escape route out of the town in case of a siege. We hadn't finished the tunnel yet, but we found some giant spiders down there, and they had to come from somewhere. Come on. I'll show you where."

Hadvar led her down another tunnel, which led deeper into the nirn below them. They came to what seemed to be another torture room that had been abandoned. One of the walls had been knocked down to expose a man-made cavern lit by wall mounted torches. The tunnel led them to an ancient room large enough to have a small stream flowing through the middle. Sure enough, a handful of Stormcloaks were milling about. None of them noticed them as they scurried over towards a short wall and pressed themselves low against it.

Hadvar peered over the wall for a moment before ducking back down. "There's five, by my count. What's the plan? Are you going to turn yourself into Ulfric Stormcloak himself?"

"Not a bad plan, for sure, but I had something different in mind." With that, the Altmer flicked an orb of red light towards a Nord holding a greatsword on his shoulder with a single hand. Similar lights flickered around his body, and previously blue eyes flashed a bloody red.

"We're being watched!" he shouted, lowering his sword to where it scraped against the stone floor, "There are Imperials about, I know it! Show yourselves! Now!" The man seemed to grow more and more agitated as he spoke. Suddenly, he pointed his five foot blade towards one of his comrades. "It's you! You're a damned yellowbelly in disguise! I know it!"

"What in Oblivion are you talking about?!" the accused Nord replied, his voice confused and afraid. "Calm down! Put your sword down! What has gotten into you?"

"Enough of your lies!" the afflicted Nord cried out, before charging forwards. He let loose a brutal two-handed downward swing which his comrades barely blocked with his leather shield, and the crude instrument broke in half from the effort, and he came within an inch of losing his hand. But as he was still staggered, the Illusion-affected Nord swung his sword and cut his friend's head from his body. He roared again, his sword now slick with blood. "You're all traitors to Ulfric! You're only here to kill him! Well I won't let you! I won't!"

His fellow Stormcloaks slowly surrounded him, trying to calm him verbally, but the sight of their drawn weapons told the High Elf that they had already given up hope that they could save him from his sudden rampancy. One of them charged with a mace, while the other two men approached with greatswords of their own. The aggravated Nord managed to parry the two blows aimed at him by swordsmen, but the man with the mace swung at his leg. When he pulled back, the man's leg was horribly broken below the knee. He collapsed to ground, falling beneath another two slashes, but he managed to turn as he fell, as his blade bit shallowly into the mace-wielder's chest.

The Altmer rose from her cover and notched three arrows in quick succession, dropping the two remaining swordsmen as the second arrow embedded itself in the stone wall behind them. She motioned for Hadvar to follow her, and approached the bodies on the ground. From the looks of things, the mace wielder was still alive. Another arrow ended his life, and the archer put another into the man she had inflicted with fury. The Nord winced at the sight of his kinsmen butchered in such a manner.

"It... It shouldn't be much farther," Hadvar said, looking back at the Stormcloak bodies, "they found the spiders in the next chamber. The big, nasty kind, that can spit poison. Come on." The two survivors fled deeper into the cave system, following another short stream. Hadvar paused by it to drink, gulping down three handfuls before allowing them to continue. It didn't take them much longer to reach the chamber that Hadvar had mentioned. A pair of spiders the size of dogs crawled about on the floor, and a third spider as large as a bear hung upside down on the roof of the cave, clutching something in its forelegs.

The Altmer wasted no time in putting two arrows in the larger spider, her remaining eye not failing her on this occasion. Hadvar, having found his nerve, ran forwards, his shield of wood and iron held in front of him to block a good of poison, before stabbing his sword downwards into the spider's cephlothorax. The other remaining spider thought better of trying to fight, and retreated to a darkened crevice. Hadvar watched it go, before pulling his blade free and following the High Elf down a different tunnel.

They came into another chamber, rejoining the stream as it flowed past stone lit by the opening in the cave mouth above them. Hadvar smiled at the sight of sunlight, but the smile faded when he noticed the bear sleeping in the sun. Only, it just looked like it was sleeping. As Hadvar crossed the shallow stream, he saw the wooden shafts of three arrows protruding from the bear's side. The Stormcloaks had likely killed when they snuck in. The High Elf must have seen that it was dead, because she hadn't even slowed. Though, with the silent way she moved, she wouldn't have woken it had been alive.

They entered another tunnel, but this one began to slope upwards. With his heart filled with hope, Hadvar ran past his ally and into the sunlight once more. The Altmer followed a moment later, with much less of a spring in her step, but she still felt hopeful. A small and grim smile fell on her face, no more than a slight upturn of the corners of her lips. Fate had decided that she would live through this day. Which meant she had something left to accomplish. Remembering what she had endured from her own people, she knew exactly what it would be.


End file.
